


The Spring Sacrament

by CozyCryptidCorner



Category: Xenophilia - Fandom, exophilia - Fandom
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alien Culture, Alien/Human Relationships, Human/Monster Romance, Multi, Orgy, Ritual Public Sex, Ritual Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-14 14:41:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18950173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyCryptidCorner/pseuds/CozyCryptidCorner
Summary: You are filled with determination to make it through the ritual without retreating, face hot, to the UN's embassy. You don't even have to partake, you decide, you just have to watch. All out of respect for their culture, of course.***If you are reading this on any third party apps (such as unofficialao3), or on any platform besides AO3, Tumblr, and Wattpad, then you are reading stolen work. I do not give consent for my stories to be published or pulled elsewhere.***





	The Spring Sacrament

This was the thing you were warned about.

 

Everyone got the same rundown before being shipped off. Specifics of culture, what could be considered rude, how to correctly compliment, and any kind of seemingly innocuous term that is slang for something sexual. The briefings took hours to sludge through, but the comprehensive reviews were merely a matter of regurgitating all information. Some people fell asleep through the lectures and barely passed through the national standards, others dove in with such an eager gusto that they became the central hubs for questions and clarification for their fellow students.

 

Though, even the people who regularly napped were awake for  _that_ specific lesson. In fact, everyone left the lecture hall messaging anyone and everyone they knew about all those juicy details, most trying to downplay what exactly they’re getting into for their relatives’ sanity. People you have only known in passing blew up your notifications with questions, looking for confirmation about what they heard from a friend who heard from a friend.

 

But still, seeing the ritual orgies in person is so much more different than reading about it in a hastily cobbled together binder of information.

 

You sit, stone still, hands carefully in your lap, trying desperately to keep the heat rising from your neck as it begins. The previous night, you managed to slog through about five minutes of the blatant display of carnal urges before you had to excuse yourself, and not to mention that you simply forewent dinner altogether the night before. Even though everyone is encouraged to return to their quarters if this kind of affair is more than they can take, there is a sick kind of curiosity inside your chest that wishes to be sated.  _The festivities only last for a single week,_  you try to bargain with the more logical part of your brain,  _might as well watch it in its full glory, just this once._

 

Aphrodisiacs are offered alongside wine and fruit, the latter being to the only thing you deem wise to consume. As you pick at a bright red cluster of berries, you eye the ceremony in the center of the feasting hall as the high priest and priestesses conclude the first half of the dark mass. Each of them is a severe and unique example of beauty, skin colors all complementary to each other, horns twisting up from their heads at soft angles. They hold hands, raising them up to the ceiling, and sing something in a language so old and familiar that it sends shivers down your arms.

 

Their song is accompanied by music, wild and earthly. Drums pound right through your bones, even through the walls. It’s the one thing you would hear in your room, keeping you up into the early hours of the morning wondering what you would see if you were there. Flutes made of woody material play a breathy melody, the notes low and deep, resonating through the high rising ceilings and echoing through the hall. There is something about the music that heats your blood, that makes you want to stand and dance until the skin on your feet tears. It takes a conscious effort not to slowly sway along with the beat.

 

Then the priest and two priestesses begin to disrobe, the material around their bodies designed to slip away with little effort. This is the point in the festival where you bounced away in an embarrassed panic yesterday night, but you tighten your fists in determination one of the priestesses proceeds to kiss the other. A sweet, seemingly chaste kiss deepens, hands beginning to wander away from cheeks, feeling down towards the waists and going further from  _there._ You have to look away, just for a moment, face growing hot far quicker than expected. After taking a few deep breaths, you turn back, noticing a few new acolytes who have begun to join. The aura around the hall quickly becomes hazy with lust, and like dominos, more fall to the sweet allure of pleasure. That includes the human side, some of your comrades shaking any feelings of taboo, shyly entering the center square to be quickly welcomed with open arms and mouths.

 

It almost feels more shameful to watch the humans as they succumb to temptation, pulling their clothes away and tossing them without further thought. You chew on your bottom lip as you turn your gaze to the left of the hall, where none of your colleagues have managed to get to, and try to keep a straight face as the wet, wild sounds of sex begin to become inescapable.

 

That’s when you lock eyes with him.

 

He is already thrusting between the legs of another, but his gaze is on you, mouth moving, saying something that you can’t make out through the rising symphony of moans and cries. Arms grab his hickory brown horns from behind, another lover joining the pile, another voice added to the sensuous song. Yet through all that, he continues to observe you, even as he bends down to bury his face between a pair of azure legs.

 

It takes every mindful second of concentration not to break his stare, fingernails digging almost painfully into your palms until he looks away first, focusing instead on the pleasure of the one beneath him. Though it might have just been innocent curiosity, you feel that the glare was a challenge of sorts. Of what precisely, you could only guess, but you no longer allow your eyes to dance over the crowd. No, you put all your focus on his writhing figure as though you can burn a hole through that forest-green body.

 

Though his group is far from your place at the low, gilded table, his fast, rutting movements leave little to your imagination, the unseen details easy to fill. His tongue must be a product of magic by the way the one beneath him wails as he licks and laps at the tender flesh. His fingers are long and slender, their grip strong enough to keep his temporary partner steady as an orgasm reaches its peak.

 

You had been so focused on the movements of his tongue that you forgot about the violet one behind him, a tall, lithe creature, until his eyes roll up and his hips thrust back. The mop of brown curls atop his head falls around his face, obscuring all features but his glistening mouth and chin. A part of you wishes that there was a way to filter out the background noise, to take away the lewd cries of lust and agony made by the others in order to hear the sweet pleas falling from his lips.

 

The blue one is gone, suckling drops of wine off the chest of another, but before you can even think to focus on a different body part, the priestess with horns as intricate and strong as a reindeer’s steps before him, obscuring your view almost entirely. All you can see is a flash of green, his body pulling and pushing between the two until both are satisfied. The violet one shakes behind him, thrusts becoming erratic and fast until those dark, indigo lips open in the face of euphoria.

 

Even after the one behind leaves at the sight of something thick and curved, the priestess still obscures the rest of his body. Still, he manages to curve his backside in such a way that you have a delectable view of his ass until finally,  _finally,_  the priestess leaves, thoroughly satisfied. Now he kneels, by himself, chest rising and falling with exhausted breath, body completely bare and unshielded by others partaking in the flesh. Your gaze, on its own, travels down to his center, to the thick, pulsing cock that glistens with precum.

 

When you glance back up, he’s staring at you once more, and it’s clear that he knows just how low your gaze had fallen.  _This is all a show,_  you realize, the corners of his mouth tug up ever so slightly,  _and a sultry invitation._  The pillow you sit on suddenly feels too hot, and squirming does nothing to find a cooler patch of fabric.

 

As a female passes, he snags her arm in a proposal, pearly white teeth showing in the sweetest possible smile. As he kisses her, though, he looks at you, eyes dark with seduction. The female grabs onto his horns to steady herself, her legs opening wide as he climbs atop her like an animal. Not once does he break his gaze, not when he bends over to lavish her breasts with his tongue, not when he presses his mouth against hers, not even when he lifts her thighs around his waist.

 

He fucks her, hard, yet gentle, with feral movement, but almost lovingly. Still, even as he pounds into her with the savagery that embodies the festival, he brushes the hair from her eyes, strokes her cheek, going as far as to bend over to press a kiss on her forehead. It’s a combination of kindness and cruelty that makes your mouth water just by looking at it, and by the curve of his mouth,  _he knows._

 

The female writhes and moans, back arching against rug laid out on the floor. You notice his fingers where her legs split, fawning against her clit to bring forth an orgasm. They both tremble, her first, and him quickly following suit, bodies overcome with pleasure. As he pulls himself from her flesh, cock still dripping with seed, his eyes are on you, devouring your soul.

 

Before you can even debate what to do, the true climax of the ritual begins to echo through the halls, moans and whines rising up alongside smoke from the incense burners. Thunder rolls overhead, a sign of spring and good fortune, as the priestesses and priest begin chanting together in harmony. Everything suddenly seems darker, more feral, screams of pleasure sending shivers through your very soul, the torches dimming as though willed by their forgotten gods.

 

Everything is suddenly bright for you to see, the fire flaring up so high you think it might burn through the ceiling. Instinctively, your eyes shut to prevent any damage, the sounds becoming disjointed, the ringing in your eardrums becoming blurred, all noises blending together into a singular racket.

 

And then, like a snap, it all falls silent.

 

Cautiously, you open your eyes. Naked bodies are leisurely spread throughout the floor still, though none of them partake in any more of the carnal delights. Lazy kisses are exchanged, multiple partners embracing each other as gentle kind of atmosphere taking hold of the hall. This is the end, the ceremony is over for the night, and that means that you can finally leave.

 

Your face is hot, and your lungs feel empty, almost as though you were partaking in the festival yourself. A strange and familiar heat burns your core. Ignoring it is the best option, you decide, walking up the stairs to the central courtyard. Arms crossed tightly against your chest, you stroll out into the fresh night air, the pale blue light of the moons just enough to see the stone path leading to the UN’s embassy through thick, decorative vegetation.

 

“Why didn’t you join us?”

 

You freeze, nails digging into your arms to anchor you to reality. His voice is warm, melodious, the syllables running through your translation device effortlessly with just a hint of an accent left over. Slowly, you turn, body still heated from what you’ve witnessed, tilting your chin up to look at him. God, he’s tall, taller than you had previously estimated, and the horns only add more to his height. The outfit he wears is just a glorified robe, the thin, silky material hastily thrown on, one of the shoulders clearly crooked, the neckline plunging down to his chest.

 

“I- I don’t,” it takes a minute for you to think again, “that’s just not something I would do.”

 

“Do you not like crowds?” There is nothing in his voice that is accusatory, no, just the pure curiosity of one culture trying to understand another.

 

“I mean, it’s not exactly about that. The whole ordeal itself is just… not something I’m used to.”

 

He nods thoughtfully. “I did hear that humans don’t usually have more than one sexual partner at a time. This must be overwhelming for you. Would a single partner be more comfortable?”

 

“I- what-”

 

“We could retreat to your room, and I would be more than willing to teach you, in depth, about our spring sacrament. You would not have to worry about anyone else watching, and I swear to you that I am quite the expert on the subject.”

 

The offer is tempting, and your heating core is already in grave agreement. Struggling to find your voice, you try to will your logical side to take the wheel. “That’s kind of you, truly, but I think I’ll be sleeping alone tonight.”

 

He cocks his head, dark, chocolate eyes staring you up and down. “Should you ever change your mind, find me. The invitation remains open.”

 

Mouth dry, you nod once, and turn around to leave. Then think better of it. “Wait.”

 

He glances over.

 

Before you can change your mind, you take a deep breath to quiet the anxiety in your stomach. “Follow me.”

**Author's Note:**

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